Page 31 of One Night for Seduction
The low, familiar rumble sent a delicious shiver across Diana’s skin. She did not need to turn around to know who had just stepped into the queue behind her.
“What made you think I’d be at this soirée?” she murmured. “There must be a dozen similar parties unfolding at this very moment.”
“I feared I was doomed to find out,” came the dry response. “This is my seventh stop tonight.”
At this, Diana could not help but glance over her shoulder.
His chiseled face was less than an arm’s length away. Closer than she’d hoped, but not nearly as close as she desired. The smolder in his hazel eyes indicated he felt much the same.
“You were looking for me?” she stammered inanely. Of course he was looking for her. Why else would he pretend a love of ratafia?
“I didn’t like how we left things.” His dark gaze was locked on hers.
She swallowed. “What else can there be to say?”
“I thought you should know that I do recognize the need for standardized units. Twenty-seven types of bushel are at least two dozen more varieties than necessary, and you don’t want me to start on the situation with gallons.”
She stared at him. “You had your coachman ferry you to seven different balls in order to argue with me about standardizing gallons?”
His cheeks colored. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not the sort of subject—”
“It’s perfect,” she admitted before he could fully apologize.
Some women might wish for a knight on a white steed to climb their balcony and steal them away into the sunset. Diana had just longed to be taken seriously. To be seen. To be heard.
“You were the one who pushed through the Weights and Measures Act of 1815?” she asked quietly.
“One of many,” he said. “I was not the leader of that committee, but I was the one who brought their attention to information I had compiled, including several unsigned letters from dissatisfied members of the public.”
A tiny thread of pride wiggled its way into her heart. He had seen her words, heard her voice, listened to her arguments way back then. They’d been partners for years. They just hadn’t realized it yet.
“Memberof the public,” she corrected with a hesitant smile. “At least for a few dozen of those letters.”
“No.” He stared at her in disbelief.
The back of her neck flushed, and she nodded. “Yes.”
He burst out laughing. “If the Lords only knew…”
Diana’s chest thumped with excitement. Colehaven was teasing her, but that was the actual plan. Miss Diana Middleton might be powerless and unimportant, but Colehaven commanded influence. He did not need to hide behind anonymous letters. He could bring her ideas to Parliament as if they were his own.
A duke supporting a common person’s ideas in the House of Lords would be the highest praiseanynon-nobleman could aspire to, regardless of gender. A public sign of complete faith.
He’d championed her cause once before. The trick would be coaxing him into a permanent partnership of sorts.
“Ratafia?” asked a footman. It was Diana’s turn.
She nodded. “Yes, please.”
He ladled the spiced, sweet wine and handed her the glass.
“Thank you,” she murmured, but the footman’s attention was already centered on the next guest in the queue.
Diana took her cue and faded toward the wallpaper. Here, just like in the House of Lords, it was Colehaven who was important and she who was not.
All she cared about were the good works they could put into place for their fellow citizens. If they could be friends—if they could be ateam—they needn’t limit themselves to weights and measures.
She would be honored to devote her time to any law that could use fact-gathering or an analytical mind to put things into perspective and dream up possible solutions.
